


What Have You Done?

by FanficShortStuffRhys



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficShortStuffRhys/pseuds/FanficShortStuffRhys
Summary: The fanfic is about a boy and his past. This is a headcanon based on the facts of the character that is canon. Dark Gotham one-shot here. So buckle up.





	What Have You Done?

“You fucking whore!” Punch. Scream. “You retaliate again and I’ll kill you, you hear?!” Slam. 

That was only two days ago and here he was again, listening to the fearful pleading and sobs of his mother from downstairs. It seems everything happens in the kitchen, everything bad that is. To think it has always been this way hurt the boy that was sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Stop it! Please! You’re just drunk!” 

“You want me to stop?” 

The sound of glass breaking wasn’t new but the boy stood up in curiosity. Yet, he didn’t dare open his door and go down the stairs. It was his mother’s golden rule when Pa came home late at night. So, the boy stood there awkwardly and waited for some noise besides the now muffled voices that he couldn’t make out. Silence soon hit and stayed until the scream. 

The scream of his mother echoed through the small home and ground at his eardrums. It was something he has never heard in his life. Not even the screams from other nights compared. The pitch seemed all wrong, cracked and uneven. Something wasn’t right and he decided then and there that he must go down the stairs. When he ran into the kitchen his heart stopped. There was his mother, his loving and understanding mother, leaning on the cabinet for support and clutching her bloody abdomen while looking at her boy in horror with a bruised and bleeding face. On the floor was dark brown shards of a glass bottle with blood painted on some of the pieces. In front of her was Pa, knife in hand and raising for another strike. That movement changed when the mother screamed at her boy in anger to run. Attention was now on him. 

“Mother, what is going on?” The boy pleaded out and he knew damn well what was happening, but he asked as if he wanted to hear it was not true. 

Pa snarled and instead of using the knife on the boy’s mother, he punched her and in one blow his mother fell to the ground. “God damn little shit!” The boy’s father began to take long weighted steps to him. “So clever she thinks you are! Everyone cheers on you and yet you don’t deserve any ounce of it!” His son didn’t move and his father was now hovering over him. The light hanging behind him over the kitchen table cast Pa’s shadow on the boy. “You’re a fake. A lying little piece of shit! If I didn’t know better I’d say you were insulting me with your showing off!”

“I don’t show off!” The boy defended confidently.

“The Hell you do!” When the hit came it had a force that sent the boy on his hands and knees. Then came the kick to his ribs and the boy cried out in pain. He looked at Pa and began shaking in terror. His father dropped the knife and gave the boy one more good kick in the gut before going back to Mother who was now trying to stand. Pa grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the counter. Over and over.

Everything was happening too fast and noise seemed to be on mute. Yet something grew inside the boy. It wasn’t anger. It was something feral and determined. Like some outer force was in control the boy grabbed the fallen knife and charged at the drunken man. It slid easily into the man’s back. Now he was face-to-face and the boy felt in his mind himself being pushed back by the inner force that took control of him. Pa grabbed the boys neck and instead of feeling scared the teenage boy felt alive. One punch, and another and another. Yet the smile stayed. “What the fuck is so fu-” The drunken Pa let go of the boy’s neck and staggered back to grab the side of his own neck where a whole was placed. That look the man had was something amazing to the boy. He couldn’t stop there, oh no. He wanted to see more of that look and so he did it again, only this time in Pa’s easily now reachable bearded jaw. Then he did it in his eye, the other one too. When Pa finally fell to his knees like the boy once was, he began to kick him. Using momentum his boot hit the man’s head several times. The beauty of the bright redness came flowing from so many areas. Then a big splat! came from the boy’s father. Huffing the boy felt once again in control of himself and looked down at what he had just done.

The drunken bastard of a father was laying on his stomach with his head caved in like a crater. Blood was making the crater into a little pond and overflowing slowly. He just murdered his father. HE. JUST. MURDERED. HIS. FATHER. The shocked look was shared by his mother who was sitting on the tile. She was crying and shaking, when she spoke it was with fear.

In disbelief, she asked him, “Edward…What have you done?”


End file.
